


It's up to you and its up to me

by birdsongcowboy



Category: The Catch (TV)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Unrequited Love, this is nsfw purely bc of rhys' angry sad masturbation, uhhh i love jealous bitter little pricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 08:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsongcowboy/pseuds/birdsongcowboy
Summary: You'll wake up one day, but It'll be too late.





	It's up to you and its up to me

**Author's Note:**

> (A little drabbly character exploration of Rhys from The Catch (ABC). I wanted to write something set after 1x09. Rhys' mostly quieted homosexual feelings towards Ben and his homosexuality in general is something that's really important to me, and i really wanted to write something with him dealing with those feelings.)

“That stupid fucker,” Rhys scolded himself quietly “fucking stupid fucker.”

He held his face in his hands, leaning back against his large wooden apartment door and recounting the events of the night again and again. The wedding reception had gone on for hours, and seemingly countless times, he had turned around to find Ben and Alice wrapped in each other’s arms. He had been talking to the happy couple, and turned to see them kissing passionately in the corner of the room. Their bodies were so complimentary, Rhys’ vision began to blur slightly as he watched them, feeling his throat burn with bile.

The mission for that month had been particularly painful, as much fun as he had tried to pretend he was having. Ben easily believed him, believed the front he put up with, no problem. Ben would believe that Rhys was having a good time if he told him, the stupid gullible bastard. Yeah, sure I’m having fun, watching you kiss someone that’s not me. He chided himself with a hiss at the thoughts as they continued, trying to busy himself with beginning to cook something. The fact he was even upset at all made him feel pathetic, and he felt his face scrunch up from the tears just underneath the surface. He slammed his head back against the door, over and over, before pushing himself off by his raw palms to quickly walk to the kitchen.

“You fucking stupid bastard.” He hissed again, his words curt and incoherent as they left his mouth. “Fucking bastard, fucking her.”

He slammed a fist on the counter, anger rushing back into him with every breath, like an ocean wave crashing back against rocks.

After so many fucking years, he thought, so many fucking years and all I can ever get from him is this, this, bare fucking minimum. This stupid shit, first my sister and now her. He wanted to spit the woman’s name, even if he knew his anger truly wasn’t her fault. He felt like an angry ghost, laying on the fringes of his dear man’s life. He looked out the window into the dim Los Angeles sky, stars flashing dully above him. He blinked away fresh tears as he watched them, his stomach twisting cruelly. He had stayed away, never made more than jokes towards Ben about being a couple. Jokes Ben had ignored, just like he ignored everything else about Rhys. Not like there was much Ben could say, but him launching into a conversation about Alice wasn’t exactly the kindest way to change the subject. Rhys had built his reputation with Ben out of being fun, being the sibling out of the two who Ben could trust wouldn’t try and control him. He wanted Ben to be free, wanted to see him have fun even in situations that wouldn’t exactly be considered fun.

This was why he had stayed calm when Ben fucked Margot. He stayed calm, stayed quiet, and stayed complicit. He never asked for more than what ben offered to him. Ben never offered anything. Rhys wanted to lay the world at his feet and he didn’t get shit back in return.

He took a bottle of wine out of the back of the cabinet, some real old world shit Margot had given him ages ago. He took the bottle and took a long drink straight from it, wincing at the sharp taste of it.

She had said something once to him that came back to him very clearly in the moment, It was from their teenage years, when he was still the true golden boy of their family, and her still the angry older sister.

“I don’t care if you’re a fag, just don’t fuck my boyfriends” Her braces had made the lisp especially prominent, and he, only being a 16 year old boy, had simply smiled back at her.

He laughed at the memory. He did, consequently, fuck all her boyfriends. Sucking her boyfriend’s cocks after school made him feel powerful, made him feel like he had some type of control of himself and the wrought desires inside of him. She didn’t know for a long time, until she had caught him fucking the captain of the chess team in her bed. He rubbed his cheek as he remembered the bruises from her angry ass-kicking afterwards. She still remembered it, and would take every opportunity to remind him of the punishment that would come if he did it again.

When he had fucked Felicity he earned nothing more than a sharp slap across the face from her, muttering quietly to himself. How unfair it was, he had told her, how she would chide him for his boyfriends constantly with her simmering resentment, and she could fuck a girl once and it was just sexy enough for her to be suddenly okay with the idea of being gay. This had earned another slap, and he had dropped it and gone home after that.

He returned his thoughts back to himself as he began to slowly peel off the sweaty tuxedo from the night’s party. He had driven Ben and Alice to the airport, starting off with happy banter before slipping back into silent contempt as they canoodled in the backseat. They planned the places they would go, the beaches they would walk across, and Rhys sat in his silence. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his fingernails hurt. His fingers still burned as he slowly undid the buttons of his vest.

Fucking stupid prick. He thought again, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

He pulled his phone from his pants pocket once he had finished with his shirt. He thought hard about finding some pretty boy on Grindr to ease his heartache and had to scold himself again.

That never works, they never work for him.

He thought about ben again instead, the strong taut body, chiseled jaw and hard face. All hard features, and that stupid fucking puppy dog softness for any woman who looked at him for five seconds. Can’t keep it in his fucking pants, Rhys thought. At least he had some class, at least he fucking courted.

He took off his trousers, folding them neatly and sitting on the bed behind him. He looked into the mirror, rubbing a hand over his face. He watched his eyes dart across the flat glass plane, cocking his head slightly. What was wrong with him, he wondered. He was able to win every man over, his words sweet and considerate as he soothed them. They were easily wooed, charmed by Rhys’ soft features and the way he was able to whine like their ex-wives when their cocks were inside him. But Ben didn’t notice, didn’t say anything. He didn’t recall once in their 15 years together Ben ever even complimenting him, even though he was eager to remind Ben of his best features. Not once did Ben’s eyes linger, no matter how many times Rhys embarrassed himself by trying to show off those ‘best features’.

What the point of having someone who calls you his partner if you can’t even fuck them, he thought, laughing out loud to himself in the empty room.

He thought about ben again. The fantasies always came back to him at this hour and he began to rub himself idly through his underwear.

He thought about Ben and him on some sweltering island, the ocean breeze coming through the window of his hotel room and quelling some of the raw heat as Ben sucked him off. His kissing Ben during the mission, the ruse as the married couple had made him burn inside. Ben’s mouth was so soft, so willing, and Rhys imagined how warm it would be around his cock, eager to please him.

He imagined the tailors, picking teasing piece by piece off from the wools and cottons and silks, until Ben fucked him raw against the changing room wall. Ben’s forearm pushing hard against his back, leaving bruises and making Rhys groan from the sweet weight of the man behind him.

He wanted ben so badly it burned him, wanted that hard body fucking him until he couldn’t breathe, wanted to taste his cum and feel the pressure from other man inside him. He imagined what Ben could feel for him, how Ben could croon soft words in his ear instead of Alice’s. He wanted Ben to grip his cock every night, feeling things and imagining the way Rhys did for him. He wanted Ben to sweat for him, to cry out his name in a passionate moan he could only imagine ever hearing.

Rhys held his cock in his fist, thrusting up lazily as he fell back and forth into his library of fantasies.

He imagined ben, his tongue claiming Rhys’ mouth as they ground against each-other in the back of Margot’s stupid fucking limousine. He imagined Ben, hair mussed and his face red from arousal as Rhys rode his cock for dear life, his hands running over bens smooth chest. Free from scars, just tan muscle and all stoicism. He imagined Ben loose for once, gripping Rhys’ hips and slamming into him with wild moans. He wanted Ben to feel resentment towards himself, anger and the feeling of wasted chances from all that time Rhys imagined he lied to himself about what he felt. He knew how badly Ben could want him, how well Rhys could treat him. Rhys would give him the fucking moon, so long as he would sleep in the same room as him without cracking a joke about Rhys being gay again. He thought how that was the only time Ben had ever said anything, only ever made locker room jokes. Rhys felt the tears on his cheeks before he realized he was crying. He came with a short cry and a sob, cum covering his chest and stomach and the anger filled him again. He got up and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom nearby, his mouth set into a hard line as he cleaned cum off of himself.

“You spend too much time wishing, Rhys, and not enough time fucking doing anything.” he said to himself “That’s your fucking problem.”

He threw the washcloth in a hamper, curling into a small ball under the heavy blankets of his bed. He let the tears fall, barely making any noise as he cried. The room stayed empty around him, he only stayed quiet so he didn’t have to hear himself.

He didn’t dream.


End file.
